


Forgot about her birthday

by galaxyostars



Series: The DMC Collection [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Hugs, Minor Injuries, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: “I thought I should let you know,” Nero said casually, “Trish said some kid kept calling your shop looking for you while you were gone.”Some kid? The “kid” he knows is literally sitting next to him on this couch-Dante’s entire body shuddered, lungs sucking in a sharp breath as he came to the realization of who the “some kid” was.&@#$. He'd forgotten about her birthday. [One-shot]





	Forgot about her birthday

**Author's Note:**

> I drafted this up on a whim after playing DMCV and re-visiting the anime. I'm a little disappointed I haven't seen this addressed, but that's the way the cookie crumbles, I guess.

_Only if you get me out of that hellish birthday party…_

Making the journey back from Hell took a lot out of the half-demon twin brothers. Vergil was as cold and smooth as usual—acted as if he was all-mighty, barely injured, hardly tired, and demanded nothing more than a cold shower and time to meditate.

Because that was apparently a thing Vergil did during his spare time. Admittedly, Dante was not surprised by this when it’d been revealed to him in the underworld—under all that “evil” in Vergil was a cool, calm and collected mentality that Dante could never hope to adopt. Meditation was apparently the way Vergil kept that going. 

_Guess he can't be an prick all the time._

Nero chased after Vergil almost like a lost and furious puppy, as was his right. “Don’t you _dare_ think you’re gonna run away from me, you son of a bitch!”

Other choice insults came flying from his mouth, demands regarding his true parentage. Vergil was an incredibly private person, as Dante now knew quite well. Even in the underworld, Vergil had thus far refused to discuss Nero's mother.

Dante rolled his eyes at the commotion, leaning back on the couch Kyrie had pushed him onto. She wrestled his chin up, getting a closer look at the poisoned scrape that ran down the side of his neck to his chest—a lucky hit in while he’d been otherwise distracted by other hordes of demons. His body was healing it gradually—it wasn’t life threatening by any means, but the process was a little slower than usual no thanks to poisoned talons. After months of fighting with demons and Vergil, his invulnerability had been put through its paces (ultimately why the brothers had made the decision to return, both of them feeling the strain of constant and non-stop battle with not only each other but hordes of demons that just didn't know when to _fuck off_ ).

She dashed away to grab a first aid kit or something. Complaining or telling her not to worry felt futile. He remained silent instead.

He leaned his head back against the couch, ignoring Nero yelling at Vergil, and rested the Dr Faust over his eyes, maybe to get something of a nap in before the next real interruption. Eventually, Kyrie returned, accompanied by a stinging sensation across his neck.

Honestly he just wanted to sleep for about fifty hours, maybe go into another coma. That couldn’t be too much to ask, right? He’d only been in hell for-

Fuck, how long had he been in hell for?

His nose scrunched just thinking about it. A few moments of contemplation later, and he decided it wasn’t worth thinking about. It made no real difference to him. The world hadn't changed, and Nero and Kyrie were still here, so it wasn't really important.

The yelling match between Nero and Vergil died down after a few minutes of his nephew taking what used to be his teenaged angst out on his biological fatehr (damn it was _so weird_ thinking about them like that). Nero instead returned to come and bug _Dante_.

“Hey,"

Dante failed to respond, hoping that maybe if he was quiet enough, the kid would go away.

_He was wrong._

_"Dante_ —you aren’t dead, are you?”

So much for getting a few hours’ sleep. He growled from under Dr Faust. “Keep yapping and you'll _find out_.”

“That gash on your neck looks pretty serious.”

It’s like Nero didn’t understand the underlying _shut up and let me nap_ Dante had just served him. Dante nodded his head to knock Dr Faust off from his face, allowing Nero to see the perplexed frown he'd made at the comment. “It’s like you’ve never _met_ me.”

Totally not as if their first encounter involved Nero impaling him with the Rebellion. Had he really been gone for such an amount of time that Nero would _forget_ about the constant impaling the Rebellion earned him?

You know what, maybe it was a good thing he'd lost Rebellion. Or maybe the sword had been trying to tell him about his true power this entire time, with all the constant impaling on his own blade. Fate was a weird thing.

“It’s _been a while_ , okay?” Nero snapped, slumping down onto the couch next to him. “You’ve never taken this long to heal something so dumb.”

“Yeah, well. Perks of being attacked by underworld natives every half hour or something.”

Nero huffed in amusement.

“I thought I should let you know,” he said, a little more cool-headed, “Trish said some kid kept calling your shop looking for you while you were gone.”

Some kid?

The “kid” he knows is literally sitting next to him on this couch-

Dante’s entire body shuddered, lungs sucking in a sharp breath as he came to the realization of who the “some kid” was.  

**_Fuck._ **

Nevermind how long he’d been in the underworld for after the whole Urizen situation—he’d been comatose in the Qliphoth for the better part of a _month_.

Not only had he blown off her party, but he’d missed it all together after taking a hit to the head from Urizen (Vergil). And then proceeding to get stuck in Hell for who knows how long (again, thanks to Vergil). Of the rag-tag group of devils, demons, and misfits assembled, Patty would have been the last of the group to find out about what had happened—the thought of her freaking out about him being in Hell for longer than a half hour, maybe even thinking that he was dead for real, made him feel a little guilty.

He gave a heavy sigh, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in his chest (which he now firmly believed he deserved). His fingers rubbed some dirt out from his eyes. “Patty.”

“You know her?”

“Yep,” he groaned, pulling himself up and off the couch. He stretched his arms up and shook them out—no rest for the wicked, right? “I _may_ have forgotten about her birthday.”

“About her _birth_ \- _what-?_ ” A confused frown formed across Nero’s face before he realized Dante was now walking to the door. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“You’ve got Vergil covered, right?” Dante asked, opening the door. “Make sure you keep your arms attached to your body while I’m gone. I've got an errand to run.”

“ _Dante!_ ”

“Be back soon!”

The door swung closed behind him, leaving a dumb-struck and utterly confused Nero standing in his own living room.

* * *

He gave two knocks on the door before leaning against the opposite wall. The gash on his neck had finally healed up, but he wasn’t exactly what anyone would have considered to be “presentable”.

On first glance, the apartment complex was surprisingly shabby, given Patty’s overall tastes. He shrugged to himself—people change.

 _Yeah, no_ —that was a stupid thought. This was Patty he was thinking about, after all. Chances were she was probably lodging with someone.

His attention was drawn from Patty’s door to footsteps approaching, though not from within the apartment. Two bags of groceries dropped to the floor at the end of the corridor, their contents spreading across the ground, as wide blue eyes stared at him.

Dante smirked, his shoulders relaxed now as he glanced over to her. “Hey kiddo.”

The groceries were left discarded as Patty cautiously approached. She looked good—blonde hair in a stylish but messy bun, wearing the kind of posh, white jumpsuit he’d expected of her. Her eyebrows were creased, pulled together as she examined him properly (not as if he really looked a treat, since he skipped cleaning himself up in favour of a nap and a bike ride here).

“ _Dante_?”

“In the flesh-”

A hard, sharp pain struck him across the chin, almost knocking him over.

“ _That’s_ for ignoring my _phone calls_!” she exclaimed, hands on hips and wide eyes furious as she shook out the hand she’d used to strike him.

He groaned, standing up properly. He brought his hand up to rub at his jaw. “What is it with you kids and the _bitch-slapping_?”

Almost as quickly as she’d knocked him over, she wrapped her arms tight around his torso in a hug—and damn if this wasn’t nice. He sighed, leaning into the action.

“You’re really here,” she cried. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he sighed. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

She laughed into his chest. “You’re such an ass.”


End file.
